


You Deserve It

by Auggusst



Series: The Soldier And The Scientist [50]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Apologies, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Civil War feels, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Guilt, Love, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Supportive Tony Stark, civil war aftermath, hugs and kisses, married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 10:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20487257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auggusst/pseuds/Auggusst
Summary: Even though it's been years since, and even though he's happily married, sometimes Steve still dreams of Siberia, and of the misery he caused. His husband will always remind him how loved he is, and that all is forgiven, even if he wakes in the middle of the night with his heart aching.





	You Deserve It

**Author's Note:**

> One of a few fics that will focus on nightmares. Don't bother asking me for a schedule/order because I have no idea xD I have no control over what gets written or not.

“He’s my friend.”

“So was I.”

_Clang._ _Boom. Bang._

The shield on metal. The taste of blood in his mouth. The stinging of broken skin on knuckles. Grunts and groans, explosions.

The cold. The unbearable, heavy cold, inside and out.

“You don’t deserve that shield! My father made that shield!”

The sound of glass shattering, of a low electrical hum disappearing. The sound of a broken heart.

The bitter, stinging wind. A blow to the chest. Anger, hatred, grief.

Dark, unfriendly halls.

A grainy video tape.

“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers! Did you know?”

_‘Rogers.’_ Not ‘Sweetheart,’ not ‘honey,’ not ‘Steve.’

He had forfeited all of that the moment he slammed the door of their bedroom not a week before. That was the beginning of the end. He sacrificed everything afterwards. Everything he had, everything he held dear, sacrificed, for the friend laying broken at his feet, the root of his problems in a way, but someone worth fighting for, someone he couldn’t give up on, no matter how much it hurt.

And it hurt, so, so much. It hurt more than getting the serum. It hurt more than crashing the plane into the Atlantic. It hurt more than laying in bed with Pneumonia as a child, with burning lungs and a fever. It hurt more than countless punches and kicks, numerous back-alley bruises and sprains.

Brown eyes filled with pain, with betrayal. Those lashes were wet with tears, surrounded by a bruise, dark and angry: A bruise he had inflicted.

Tony’s breathing was labored, shaky, like he couldn’t get enough air in. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe Steve had crushed the air right out of him, along with every ounce of happiness.

It all jumbled together. Falling from the missile silo, pulling him off Bucky, meeting him at the elevator, discovering the corpses of the Winter Soldiers, pinning him to the ground… It all was a massive, disorganized blur, replaying over and over and over. It was violent, vivid, and utterly terrifying.

Some part of Steve knew this was a dream. Well, it wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare. It was a nightmare he was quite familiar with, that he had several times over the last few years. But that was the kicker: All of this was real. There was nothing here imagined, no twisted aberration his mind had concocted. He had done all of these things, had lived them. He had beaten the man he loved half to death, and left him, cold and alone, in an abandoned Soviet facility. He left behind everything they built, everything they had together, and went without it for almost three years.

“I don’t care. He killed my mom.”

Tony’s voice still bit through him, drowned him in guilt so deep it made his chest ache as if hit by a train. His voice, his face, his very being, struck the blond to the core, tortured him repeatedly. But Steve was the one inflicting that torture. It was his own fault. Steve was the one who ruined everything, who left scars that cut too deep.

If he had told the truth, if he had gone about it all differently, none of this would’ve happened.

_Clang. Clang. Clang_.

He was bashing the shield into the chassis of the suit. He had to stop, but he couldn’t.

_Clang. Clang. Clang._

The red metal paint gave way to shredded gray, and little chunks of debris went flying left and right as Steve struck down, again and again and again. Tony cried out beneath him, and still, Steve went on, striking him again and again. It was like he couldn’t control himself anymore.

Panic bubbled up in his chest, turned his blood cold.

This wasn’t right. It was seven blows—seven that had sealed the deal, seven that had changed his life. Steve counted them in his head over the years, a mantra of punishment, a reminder of the things he did. This…this was more.

He kept going, chipping away at the armor piece by piece. Tony’s hands gripped his arms desperately, trying to stop him. “Steve! S-Steve!”

“Tony!” he called out. Whether it was his dream self, or his actual self, he couldn’t tell. He couldn’t focus, could barely see straight. He couldn’t get his hands to stop moving.

There was blood now—he could see it each time he pulled back, could hear Tony’s voice get more frantic.

“No,” Steve groaned, trying to shut his eyes. He couldn’t. He could only look down in horror as he struggled in vain to get control of his body, to stop it. He had to! He had to stop it all before—before—

The scientist was choking on his blood now, eyes wide and fearful, pleading as they stared up at the soldier.

“N-no! Tony!” Steve cried, breathless and afraid. He let out a sob. This wasn’t right! He was hurting Tony, _killing _Tony, and he couldn’t—there was nothing he could—

“_Steve!”_

The blond woke with a start, practically jumped out of bed. His vision was hazy and every intake of breath was quicker than the last, like back in his youth, when he had asthma attacks. His pupils were blown wide, and muscles tight. A hand settled on his arm and he flinched, but a voice cut through his panic.

“Steve, honey, listen to me! You’re okay. Everything’s okay. Can you hear me?”

There—Steve could see him, just barely. The room was bright—too bright. The lights had been turned on. Steve blinked away the burn, focused his vision. Tony was leaning over him, distressed, but not like a moment ago. He looked healthy, his face was clear of bruises, and the blood, all the blood, was gone. Most importantly, his eyes were warm, loving, instead of dark and pained.

“T-Tony?” the soldier choked out, trying to understand. Where did the cold go? Where did the scent of metal, the stinging of his injuries, the pain of his muscles go? Where was his shield, and the concrete walls?

“That’s it, that’s right sweetheart. Take a breath—you had a nightmare,” the brunet explained, brushing a hand over Steve’s forehead. It was damp with sweat, and he was trembling a little, but soon enough his lungs stopped burning, and he could inhale freely.

Steve exhaled shakily, raised his hands until they found purchase on Tony’s arms. His initial grasp was too strong. He knew it would leave bruises, so he forced himself to hold back, to settle for a light touch. He could feel Tony, could feel the warmth of his skin, could hear his breathing. There was no armor, there were no weapons.

Steve’s blue eyes scanned the room—he was in their bedroom. He was home. He was safe.

“Tony,” he sighed, surging up and pulling the scientist close in a crushing hug.

“I’m right here,” Tony replied, reaching up to pet Steve’s hair. He was really shaken up, if the firm grip he had on Tony was anything to go by.

“You scared the hell out of me, baby,” the brunet said, voice soft.

He had no idea what the soldier had dreamt about, but he was calling out his name, and with such raw urgency that the scientist awoke immediately. He had tried in vain for the first few minutes to rouse Steve, feeling the panic rise in himself when he couldn’t get his partner to respond.

Steve’s dreams always got him deep, drowned him in emotion or trauma. Tony was lucky that the soldier’s instincts didn’t carry over into waking, because he was sure the soldier would fight for his life, even when there was no danger. Tony was almost at his wit’s end, this late at night, with Steve taking so long to respond. He came dangerously close to crying, and could still feel the lump in his throat. Finally though, the blond snapped out of his dream, and Tony was thankful for it.

He rubbed Steve’s back protectively now, shushed his shaky breathing.

Steve still wasn’t doing any better though. Now that he got a handle on his surroundings, and his pounding heart had settled a little, the details of the dream came back to him, vivid and stinging, and he was overwhelmed with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, burying his face in Tony’s shoulder. He tightened his grip. “I’m so, so sorry I ever—the things I did, I—I hurt you so bad.”

The words spilled out before he could stop himself. It was so long ago, all of it, but his mistakes still haunted him. Not a day went by that the shame didn’t bubble up, sometimes barely there, but other times heady and strong. He could never make up for what he did, and he knew it. He did his best, and he thought Tony was happy with him, but he worried. He worried that nothing could ever fix things, that there was always a part of Tony that was damaged because of him.

Tony exhaled softly. They’d had this conversation before, once or twice, but never like this. Normally it came during the day, or after a battle. He could guess now, what the dream was about. The mess in Siberia was so fucked up, and yeah, Tony thought about it on occasion, but he’d forgiven Steve long ago for what happened then. It was almost four years ago now. Sometimes he remembered all the pain, or at least, his body certainly did. Those aches were overshadowed by worse once since though, and maybe he had a small scar or two, but he would never tell the blond that he had inflicted them. Tony knew how it tore him up, and sometimes Tony still wanted to be bitter, but why should he? Sometimes he was the one with the nightmares, with overwhelming guilt, but it was in the past. They were together now, happily married, and nothing like that would ever happen again.

“It’s alright. It’s all okay—you’ve more than made up for it, trust me,” the brunet soothed, pressing a kiss to the blond’s hair. “I love you, Steve, and you love me right? We got through it all. We’re safe, we’re together, and nothing’s gonna pull us apart again.”

“I don’t deserve it,” the soldier replied, a slight tremble in his shoulders. That made Tony’s heart bleed. “I don’t deserve you—I-I almost killed you, I just _left_ you there and…”

The brunet pulled back a little, so he could take his partner’s face in his hands gently. “Stop. Don’t think about it. You…you did what you had to do. It was for Bucky,” he said, looking into blue eyes. There were tears on Steve’s cheeks, leaking between his fingertips.

“B-but I still… God, I just… how bad did I hurt you? What did I do to you?”

Tony sighed, long and soft. He shook his head in refusal. “I don’t think…Now isn’t really the best time,” he replied, brushing away Steve’s tears.

It really wasn’t. Emotions were obviously high strung, and it was the middle of the night. They could talk about it later. He didn’t particularly want to relive all of that, especially when he was exhausted. Steve didn’t want to wait, though.

“Please. I’ve gotta know.”

The tone of his voice was too earnest, too pleading, for Tony to deny him. He stopped and stared at the blond for a moment, saw the desperation in his eyes. Tony took a deep breath, pulled forward the information that never really left his brain, no matter how hard he tried to bury it.

“Sprained elbow, minor head trauma, a few cuts… a lot of bruises,” he said softly, feeling a phantom tingle in his arm. “The…psychological effects were a lot worse,” Tony added, as if it would help at all.

Steve’s head fell forward, and his shoulders dropped in shame. “I can’t…I can’t even begin to explain to you how sorry I am,” he said, forehead resting over the brunet’s heart.

“I know,” Tony replied, brushing a hand through his blond hair. “I know, baby. And I forgave you, remember? It wasn’t all your fault. If I had a better handle on myself, if I hadn’t thrown the first punch…”

“You had a right to. I should’ve told you sooner about your parents. I just… I couldn’t find the words. And Bucky… I had to keep him safe. I wish there was a better way—maybe there was and I was too stupid to see it, but god….” Steve’s voice wavered. “I wish I had done it all differently.”

“Come on,” the scientist sighed softly. “It’s in the past now. Stop torturing yourself over it.”

God knows he had done his best to forget about it. It had been maybe the biggest betrayal of his life, and the ensuing heartache was enough to rip him to shreds, for years, but that wasn’t the end. Things were good now, things were okay. He didn’t like to dwell on it. It was clear though that Steve still did, whether he wanted to or not. He hadn’t found his closure yet. Tony wasn’t sure he could give it to him, but he would try.

“How can you even stand to look at me? I hurt you. I hurt the team—I was never there for you when it counted,” Steve said, frustrated with himself. Sometimes, when he looked in the mirror, it made him sick, knowing the things that he had done. He knew Tony felt the same, and spent his time trying to convince the scientist otherwise, but he could never seem to forgive himself.

“Steve. I’m _over_ it. We worked through it; you loved me even through that mess, you asked me to marry you and I said _yes_ because I wanted to. Because I love you. Even with all of that, I love you. Sweetheart, I would love to go back and do it all over again. Maybe you would’ve been mine forever sooner, but we can’t change it, and what the hell does it matter? We’re okay now. Everything’s okay. Please get that through your stubborn little head.”

The blond looked skeptical, blue eyes deep with emotion.

Tony tugged on his left hand, brought it up to his lips and kissed his wedding ring.

“This right here?” the brunet started, “This is your promise, and your apology. As long as you don’t leave me again, I couldn’t care less about that whole mess. It still hurts, and maybe always will, but your promise makes up for it.”

“I killed you…” Steve whispered, tightening his hand around Tony’s, clinging to him desperately. “In my dream. I beat you until you were dead.”

“But you didn’t. I’m right here. I’ll always be right here,” the brunet replied, surging forward and burying his face in the crook of his husband’s neck. “I’m right here,” he repeated, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

Steve finally exhaled in relief, tried taking his words to heart. He wrapped his arms around Tony protectively, the hold maybe a little too tight, but he was afraid of Tony disappearing, of _this_ turning out to be the dream, of waking up without the brunet and with nothing at all, cold and alone and filled with regret and misery.

He breathed deeply, took in the scientist’s scent, his warmth. He was safe, and Tony was by his side. They were married, almost for a year now. Why couldn’t he shake these dreams? If it wasn’t this, it was Washington, it was the War, it was Thanos. There was always something. Things had been good. There were a few more battles here and there, and Steve had a brief stint in the hospital two months ago, but otherwise, everything was fine. There was no catalyst, and it had been a good two weeks since his last unpleasant dream.

Steve hated the dreams. He hated that he couldn’t let go of the past, that it haunted him, chased him even when he had everything he wanted. What was wrong with him? Would he ever be able to let it go? The blond wasn’t sure. He took solace in Tony’s touch now, his gentle breathing and the kisses he was slowly placing on his cheek.

“I’m right here, just hold me,” his husband muttered when the soldier couldn’t form a response, and Steve could finally let go of the tension in his muscles. The brunet eased him against the mattress slowly, sinking into the sheets, and Tony tucked himself in Steve’s side. The bed was warm and comfortable, and the lamp on the nightstand dimmed once more into near-darkness, light enough that he could still see the brunet’s form.

Steve sighed, brushed a hand through Tony’s soft hair. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’m just… it’s still hard, sometimes.”

That was true. It was extremely hard, as evident from this little nighttime interruption. Tony understood though, probably better than anybody. He had so many nightmares over the years that he lost count, and the same could be said for Steve.

“Don’t apologize, baby. My nightmares still fuck me up too,” Tony said. He rested his hand over Steve’s heart, closed his eyes. He was glad Steve was settling down now, that at least for the moment, he was assured that the past truly was the past.

Tony had his own moments of doubts. Sometimes an argument still passed between them, and old pains were brought up, sharp and cutting deep, but thankfully, they always ended in hugs and kisses, in heartfelt apologies. They each had enough pain to last a lifetime—they didn’t want to inflict any more on each other.

“Yeah,” the blond breathed in agreement, closing his own eyes. Maybe he could get back to sleep now. Maybe he could put all those terrible visions out of his mind, could forget it all and sink back into rest.

When he said so, the brunet assured him that he could, and muttered another declaration of love against his shoulder. Tony’s love was warm and all-encompassing, and so much more than Steve felt he deserved. He rested his hand over his partner’s, ran his fingertips over the smooth outline of his wedding ring. A promise: that’s what Tony had called it. It really was.

Steve loved him, so, so much, and would spend the rest of his days keeping his promise, and trying to make up for the ones he had broken. He had broken so many, too many, even though he never wanted to. And Tony, well, he was more forgiving than he should be, and Steve loved him for it. He sometimes had a temper, and was easily agitated, and sometimes could be cruel when the wrong things were said, but so could Steve. They were similar in that way.

Tony wasn’t perfect, but he was everything Steve wanted, and everything he needed. He felt lucky that the brunet had ever given him the time of day, and still couldn’t believe he was given a second chance after everything. He was humbled by it, by the fact that things had worked out in the end, that he was even here now.

It was more than Steve deserved, in his opinion. He would take what he was given though, what Tony so lovingly provided, despite it all. He was at home, far away from strife, from darkness and pain, with Tony in his arms, sighing softly and humming at the kiss Steve pressed to his temple. It was all he ever wanted, and he had it.

Somehow, he had it.

Comforted by the thought, by his husband’s love, he took a deep breath, and with Tony’s gentle breathing, and his body against him, he settled back down to sleep.

He slept well thereafter.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave your thoughts! Thanks for reading <3


End file.
